‘Art With Values’.

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory, Reading, Real Men, trauma with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 22, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

There’s a friend of mine, a very successful artist, who I admire very much. I met him twenty years ago when we were working together in a dirty nightclub in South Melbourne; he was collecting glasses and I was bouncing. We both aspired to art, and he hit critical pay-dirt much earlier than I (who am I fooling – I still haven’t got there).

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‘…Just Don’t Put It on the Internet.’

Posted in Pretensions toward cultural theory, Reading with tags , , , , , , , on December 15, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

Caveat:

This has been written to disturb you.

Invitation:

Summon your personal incarnation of this figure into your mind’s eye and look through it like a lens while you’re reading this. 

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Ode to the XR6 Turbo

Posted in poetry, sonnet with tags , , on December 4, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

The tyres shrieking their demand for traction

Where the road crests the brow of the mountain

Afternoon is a golden smelter in

The crucible of the speedometer

The ceramic squeal of heated rotors

As brakes negotiate with the motor

Stark black warnings screaming from yellow signs

Driven by rhythm of white centre line

A hare, erect and startled, stands roadside

Headlights fulminate in its amber eyes

One figure riveted as sentinel

To the flipside of the other’s vigil

Iron grey dusk rears up, pure reverie

As the turbo howls like a Valkyrie


…Because every bloke should write a poem about his car.

Instagram: The Diabolical Mirror

Posted in Love letters with tags , , , , on November 1, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

2.

I wonder if I’ve become a kind of Max Cady figure for her. Perhaps I am representative of old misdeeds and have turned up, winking and flashing like a bad penny.

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Instagram: The Diabolical Mirror

Posted in Love letters with tags , , , on October 27, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

“I am not telling the truth about Dean, I am creating him out of my own inadequacies. You must always remember that.”

– James Salter,

A Sport and a Pastime.  

It is worth mentioning that I found myself awake this morning, on my day off, at 4:11am. For this, I blame Y-.

For whatever reason, good or bad, I decided last night to stalk her on Instagram.

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The Sunless Side of Always

Posted in poetry, sonnet on September 29, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

I promise not to flinch to hate

I will embrace this gift of pain

I will not hide your sovereign light

Beneath this abject cloak of shame


I promise not to run and hide

Concealed in darkness of another

Nor pull your faults across my eyes

I’ll keep my word to stand and suffer


Night folds me in blackened wings

And paints a landscape sinister

Your beating heart, it echoes still

Through the tangle of my viscera

That rhythm scores these absent days

On the sunless side of always


And for those who prefer their sonnets in the traditional pentameter…


I promise that I’ll not flinch into hate

I will fully embrace this gift of pain

I will not turn and hide your sovereign light

Underneath this abject cloak of shame

 


I promise I’ll not run away and hide

Or curl up in darkness of another

I will not pull your faults across my eyes

I’ll keep my word that I’ll stand and suffer


As night enfolds me in its blackened wings

And paints a landscape chill and sinister

The beating of your heart, it echoes still

Through darkling tangle of my viscera


Its rhythm scores these silent, stagnant days

Encamped on the sunless side of always

James Salter’s ‘A Sport and a Pastime.’

Posted in Reading with tags , on September 17, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

2.

The notion of a relationship becoming deeper and more profound as people begin to ‘transgress’ the boundaries of what a twenty-first century reader would describe as vanilla sex is also a time-worn strategy.

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James Salter’s ‘A Sport and a Pastime.’

Posted in Reading with tags , , , , , , , , on September 16, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

1.

A Sport and a Pastime is considered – by Americans – to be an American classic. My first question, upon finishing the book, is, ‘What makes something a classic? What makes it ‘feel’ like one?’

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Blankness of a Clock Face

Posted in poetry, sonnet with tags , , on August 30, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

Your stride faltered in hesitation as
The young man held the door to let you pass
His face eclipsed by yours – a brief reflection
His eyes stalled by yours within the glass

I’d hoped to catch this moment in the mirror
Rising from the lines upon my face
But read the time less from standing figures
Than from the way you spanned the empty space

This morning’s spectre of your fragrant heat
Attendant to your body’s pooling shadow
Trickles through the reef of cotton sheet as
A frigid breeze rattles the open window

I kiss your neck, then disappear from sight
You turn to face the weeping winter light

The Devils – A User’s Guide

Posted in Fiction, Observation, Reading with tags , , , , , on August 26, 2020 by Jarrod Boyle

What’s it about?

What amounts to a terrorist cell in mid-nineteenth century Russia and its effect on a small fictional town of Dostoyevsky’s invention.

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